


can you hear me, S.O.S., help me put my mind to rest

by Mothfluff



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Jake cannot not get himself hurt and Amy cannot not help him out, a little bit of double-sided pining as well, but basically just them being idiots in love as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 13:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30123255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothfluff/pseuds/Mothfluff
Summary: “Sorry they made you come out for something so stupid.” He mumbles, finally, in the elevator up to his apartment.“It’s not stupid.”“It’s 1am on a sunday, I’m pretty sure you had better things to do than pick up a beat-up co-worker and buy him his drugs.” He shoots her a quick glance as they get out on his floor. “I’m gonna pay you back for those, of course.” She doesn’t even acknowledge it, because they both know he can’t afford it.“It’s actually 12:30, and my partner needed my help. So there’s definitely nothing better to do with my time.”---*---Amy is Jake’s emergency contact on his medical file, which makes sense if you think about them as the lovey-dovey couple that they are now. She has been his emergency contact since two months after he’d met her, which makes less sense, until you realise that she is reliable, comforting, supportive Amy, and he is Jake, and he has never not been yearning for her attention just a little bit.
Relationships: Jake Peralta & Amy Santiago, Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 11
Kudos: 74





	can you hear me, S.O.S., help me put my mind to rest

**Author's Note:**

> There's absolutely no timeline / canon-compliant point for either of these scenes, sorry. Just imagine they've already gone through all the will-they-won't-they chaos during the hospital scene, and are now at the point of pining from both sides so hard that there's an entire forest between them.

“Jesus Christ, Jake. I know you’re bad at paperwork, but this is a horror show.”

Amy rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands, trying to stare down the little stars that appear in her vision from doing so. Jake, across the room on his worn-down couch, eating something very sweet and very crumbly - a cannoli, maybe? it was gone too fast for Amy to recognise - simply shrugs.

“You don’t have to do it, Ames, you know that.”

She does. She knows. She offered, after all.

Maybe it was too early for something like this, anyway. They’d been officially together for barely a month, a stage where most other couples would still be discovering each other’s little likes and dislikes and trying to hide some imperfections from the other. Definitely not the stage of going through their partner’s chaotic mountain of very personal paperwork and files. Yet here she is, sorting through insurances (the rare few that Jake actually has, mostly because he’s legally required to), licenses, bills and Academy certificates. 

It was a mess that had Amy’s fingers itching every time she saw it, she reasons, and nothing they’d done in their month together really fit the usual trajectory of a relationship anyway, based on the fact that they already knew each other like the back of their hands. So when Jake had groaned about another forgotten bill from the mail tub that Amy forced him to steadily work through every time she came over, she’d offered to get things straightened out for him once and for all. 

She’s not sure if she regrets it now. Thumbing through a pile of loose papers that turn out to be several medical records from his injuries as a rookie cop, she realises that maybe this is a bit too personal, a step too close for what they have so far.  _ Would she be willing to share this kind of information with a boyfriend of four weeks? _ she wonders as she skims over a page detailing the frankly insane amount of medication he was supposed to take after another week-long stay at the hospital. She’s quite sure he took barely half of it, gritting his teeth and moaning about stupid doctors instead, even though she didn’t know him back then - she knows him too well now not to immediately picture a slightly younger Jake with a list of weird-sounding pills he couldn’t pronounce and a giant frown on his face at the pharmacy.

“I don’t have to- I mean, I can stop. If you don’t want me to do this.”

Jake, finished with whatever he was eating, leans back on the couch to face her at the tiny table in his kitchenette. He gives her the patented Peralta-grin, the sweetness only heightened by some leftover cream-filling (definitely a cannoli) on his right cheek. She has half a mind to get up and lick it off, but she’s blocked in by paper piles all around her.

“And keep Amy Santiago from a chance to file paperwork? Pretty sure that’d be grounds for a break-up. I’m surprised you haven’t run out to buy me a filing cabinet filled with all sorts of folders and tabs and whatnot.”

She lets her eyes drop back down to the papers in her hands, trying hard not to show him the blush creeping onto her face. She  _ had  _ been making a mental list of what binders she should buy to really get this in order.

“I’m just saying, if you don’t want me to see some of this- it’s very private information-”

“Babe.” He still grins, and Amy thinks about how that pet name has settled between them far too quickly and far too comfortably as well. “Pretty sure nothing in that mountain of papers is any more embarrassing than all the stuff you already know and tease me about all the time.”

“True. It’s not like I’m going to find out here why you think using the same soap for your dishes and your shower routine sometimes is an okay thing to do.” She grins back before filing away another old medical record, suddenly getting stuck on one little line at the top of it. “Jake, please tell me Stevie Schillens is  _ not _ still your emergency contact.”

“What? No. Of course he isn't. They make you update your info with every promotion at work.” That alone tells her that if ‘they’ didn’t, Jake would definitely still have a co-worker from his starting days on his files rather than, say, his current sergeant or a close friend. She shuffles through a few papers to find a more recent record.

“Who is it, then? Might be good to update again and reconsider, promotion or not. Your mom is like half an hour’s drive away if anything happened, Terry can’t really get away from his family if it’s after hours. I wouldn’t trust Charles not to break down worse than you if he ever gets a call, and Rosa- I guess she’s responsible enough, but she might hurt you more for giving out her phone number-”

“Really, Ames?” His voice is so soft from the couch, and when she finally looks up again, his face has that strange tilt to it, between affectionate and amused. As if she’d just said the most ridiculous, yet adorable thing in the universe. As if the answer wasn’t completely obvious.

She looks down again at the paper she picked up, a medical report from a while ago, and as she reads the little line on top, she remembers.

* * *

“Amy Santiago?”

“This is she.”

The voice down the line is as foreign as the number on her cell had been when she picked it up. She didn’t get many calls on her private phone anyway, apart from her family, and they were not the kind of people who’d call her at midnight on a saturday.

“This is NewYork-Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. We’re calling on behalf of Jake Peralta? You’re listed as his emergency contact, but there is no additional info on your status-”

She’s up off the couch and into her bedroom to change into jeans before the nurse on the line can even finish.

“I’m his partner. Work. Partner. We’re detectives. NYPD.” Amy almost barks down the line while wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear to pull down her sweatpants. Jake would obviously carry his badge even when he wasn’t on duty like tonight, but maybe they hadn’t found it, maybe he hadn’t been able to give them that info... and while it was slightly upsetting to think about, she knew that the hospital would give fast-tracks and special treatments to active cops, and if that was something that could help him now, the morality of it all didn’t matter one bit to her. “What’s happened? Is he- is Jake okay?” 

_ Obviously he’s not, you idiot, he’s in the hospital and not present enough to give them any information so they have to call his emergency contact, that is the furthest from okay that he could be- _

Her inner scolding is interrupted by the very calm, very soothing voice of the nurse.

“He should be fine. He was brought in ten minutes ago. Somebody assaulted him, but a nearby officer intervened and called for an ambulance. We just needed to check because his files are very… incomplete.” Amy hears the rustling of paper and the slight distaste tinging the nurse’s voice and makes a mental note to sit down with Jake and make him update all his information as soon as possible. “And he’s not clear enough to answer any questions due to the painkillers. Are you aware of any allergies or problems that could arise from medications? He doesn’t need surgery, but we have to treat some lacerations and other wounds.”

“He’s not on any permanent medications. He had to take Vicodin and Heparin after a surgery four months ago.” She replies immediately and without a doubt, remembering her last trip to the hospital with him while she slips into a jacket and checks her bag for her purse and car keys. “Oh, he has asthma, but hasn’t had an attack in years, so he doesn’t use his inhaler regularly or anything. And he’s allergic to bees, but I don’t think that matters?”

“No.” the nurse almost chuckles. “But the rest is very helpful to know, thanks. Will you be able to arrange for someone to monitor him for the next 24 hours? Otherwise we’ll need to prepare a room for him. He keeps saying you’ll pick him up, but we weren’t sure-”   
“I’m on my way.” 

She speed-walks to the front desk of the emergency room not ten minutes later.

“Hello. My name is Amy Santiago. I’m here for Jake Peralta - he was brought in twenty minutes ago?”

“Ah! The lovely lady detective.” The nurse - it’s a different one from the phone call, she can tell from the voice - gives her a weird sort of smile. “Yes, he’s been asking for you non-stop. But the painkillers should have worn off by now, so he might be more coherent.”

She tries to ignore that comment, she really does. But it’s not easy.

“The doctor’s going over aftercare with him, so he might be a few more minutes. You can take a seat if you’d like.” 

Amy glances over to the waiting area, full of people even at this time of night, before turning back to the desk. “Uhm, the nurse on the phone said he needs to be monitored for 24 hours - do you know why? Is there anything I need to be aware of?”

The lady gives her a once-over before another strange smile, like she knows more than Amy does (which, logically, in this situation she does, but it feels like she knows something  _ else _ , too).

“He’s had a minor concussion. Nothing to worry about, but he might be a bit disoriented or woozy, so it’s best not to leave him alone. And if he throws up or feels faint, you should bring him back immediately. He has a check-up appointment to remove his stitches in three days. Everything else you need to know will be on his report.”

“Sure.” Amy nods, and hopes that Jake doesn’t lose track of that report on his way from the examination room to the waiting area - it wouldn’t be the first time he manages to lose paperwork in record time. She gives the still smiling nurse another nod before finally heading to sit down and pull out the crossword puzzle she was halfway done with when she got the call.

  
  


“Hey.”

“Oh! Hey!” Amy practically drops her puzzle and jumps from her seat in the waiting room once she sees him standing in front of her.

Jake looks a mess. His leather jacket is ripped on one shoulder seam, and his jeans are covered in grime. There’s an awful lot of blood on his hoodie - probably from his nose, which is covered in a bandage - and his face is more red-bruised than pale in most places. There’s another, bigger bandage over a stitched-up gash across his left cheekbone, the accompanying eye blood-shot, and his lip is split in at least two places.

“You look like hell.” She blurts out before thinking and immediately scolds herself, but it actually earns her a little laugh.

“You’re looking lovely as well, Santiago.” His eyes wander over her messy ‘I had to get here in under ten minutes on a saturday couch night’ look, including a steadily unraveling hair-bun and oversized sweater.

“Sorry, I mean-”

“S’alright.” He drops into the seat next to her and winces. _ More bruises _ , Amy thinks.

“What happened?” She sits back down as he leans forward, only now noting the clipboard and pen in his hands (which are equally roughed up, knuckles worn down, with scabs already forming. Whatever had happened, he sure hadn’t given in easily).

“Some big-shot guy whose dealer I arrested last week spotted me coming out of a bar. Decided the best way to deal with his crippling drug addiction was to beat the shit out of the cop who’d cut off his supply. He was, like, a giant of a dude.” Jake puffs up his chest and raises his arms to show the supposed size of the man, and Amy can only nod. “Luckily he was too stupid to check for surveillance on the very public street we were on, and there was a beat cop on the corner who cuffed him pretty quickly.” He looks down again at the clipboard, and tries to scratch his nose before remembering there’s a bandage in the way. “He also called an ambulance, which I think was a bit over the top, but I couldn’t really breathe to tell him no.”

Amy gives him a quizzical look, and he sighs before explaining.

“Fucker punched me in the chest so hard I had an asthma attack.”

She snorts. She doesn’t want to, but it’s not really something you can stop, even as she clutches her hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Jake, I shouldn’t- it’s not funny-”

“Well.” He grins at her, far softer than usual, but that might just be to not upset his split lip. “It is a little bit funny, I guess.”

“Do you have an inhaler at work? You should take one with you, you know, even if you haven’t had problems for a while, you never know when they show up again, case in point, and people might not know what to do - maybe I should get an inhaler too, for when we’re working together, and make sure Charles knows how-”

“Hey.” He interrupts her verbal stream of consciousness by holding the clipboard up to her, and she grabs it reflexively the same way she does when he sneakily slips her his unfinished paperwork. “Can you help me fill out these stupid forms? I think I’m still a bit high from whatever they gave me back there, or maybe I just don’t know half of these words anyway.”

She grabs the pen from him as well, clicks it twice, and gets to work. She doesn’t even have to ask him about most of the fields he’s left blank, and after a minute or two, the file is full with both his chicken scratch and her perfect handwriting. She’s filled out so many of these forms for him before, she could probably do it in her sleep. Which would be quite a worrying thought if it wasn’t so weirdly sweet at the same time - she realises that he has never, not once, asked anyone else for a ride to the hospital for work injuries, at least when he had the choice (and luckily, he was barely ever so hurt that he couldn’t, that any one of them had to jump into the back of the ambulance with him, but most of those times it was her as well). 

“Here.” She hands the file back to him. “Get that to the nurses, and we can go back to your place so you can catch up on sleep. Do you have your medical report?”

He nods and swaps it for the clipboard in her hand in a well-set routine they both know, getting up to hand it in while she does a quick read through. There are not that many after-care instructions - the usual things for concussions she’s aware of, a healing balm for the bruising, replacing the bandages regularly, and another truckload of painkillers and medicine. The doctors sure do seem to love pumping him full with it whenever they get a chance, and he sure does love to ignore them and not take any of it. She still makes a mental note to swing by the pharmacy on their way home to pick it all up when he gets back and gestures for her to leave.

He does a dramatic turn and bow to say good-bye to the front desk as they pass it, earning himself a giggle from the ladies and swaying only a little after he gets back up. Amy has her hands around his elbow immediately, steadying him and leading him outside - they did say he would be woozy - and the nurse gives her another one of those smiles. She’s still not quite sure if she likes them or not. 

They stop at the late-night-pharmacy as planned - Jake obeys orders to stay in the car to make it all quicker, but insists on getting a bag of sour gummies as a reward, and Amy sighs as he tears into it right away, probably covering her whole passenger seat with the powder - but the rest of the drive stays quiet. It feels more concerning to Amy than it should. He’s a blabbermouth at the best of times, should be even more so after being loaded up with painkillers and coming down from the adrenaline high of a fight, asthma attack and hospital treatment all at once. But right now he seems utterly silenced, fidgety and... nervous.

“Sorry they made you come out for something so stupid.” He mumbles, finally, in the elevator up to his apartment.

“It’s not stupid.”

“It’s 1am on a sunday, I’m pretty sure you had better things to do than pick up a beat-up co-worker and buy him his drugs.” He shoots her a quick glance as they get out on his floor. “I’m gonna pay you back for those, of course.” She doesn’t even acknowledge it, because they both know he can’t afford it.

“It’s actually 12:30, and my partner needed my help. So there’s definitely nothing better to do with my time.”

He mumbles something else as they step through the door, but she doesn’t catch it. She helps him slip out of his jacket instead, reminds herself to google a good tailor that works with leather as she notices the ripped shoulder while hanging it up and turns around to look at the blood-stained hoodie he’s taking off.

“I don’t think that thing is salvageable.”

“Damn, and it was one of my favourites, too.” He pouts, playfully, before remembering his injured lip.

“ _ All  _ your hoodies are your favourite.”

“Am I not allowed to love them all equally?” 

Amy is already in his kitchen not answering that, instead bundling the hoodie up and into a trash bag she’s pulled from a shelf. She’ll take it down to the dumpster with her when she leaves tomorrow, or else he might try and wash it.

“You don’t have to do all this, you know.” Jake says as she walks past him to put the bag on the front mat. “I can take care of my clothes.”

“Sorry.” She halts and takes off her own jacket and shoes, instead. It’s a strange situation - they’re both used to Jake being a lot more inhibited from medication or alcohol when she literally has to bring him home, usually hanging onto Amy’s shoulders and babbling nonsense while she shuffles him into bed. But now he’s standing up all on his own, silent again, looking around the place as if he doesn’t know what to do in his own home with Amy as a not-quite-guest. Neither does she.

Another beat of silence passes between them before Jake clears his throat and bumbles on.

“You should- ...do you want something to drink? I think I still have some of that herbal stuff you brought-”

“You should-” Amy starts at almost the same time, silencing them both again for another beat. “You should change out of these” she gestures to his dirty clothes “and put the balm on your bruises and get ready for bed. You’re gonna crash from the adrenaline soon.”

It seems like he wants to say something else, but the silence is deafening by now, so he only nods and grabs stuff out of the pharmacy bag before heading to the bathroom.

“I’m gonna grab a spare shirt for me to sleep in, if that’s okay?” She calls after him and only hears ‘Sure!’ before the door closes.

Amy realises, as she turns around for the dresser in the one room apartment he inherited from Gina a while ago, that she’s never been here before without some medical emergency clouding her vision. She knew his old place - from a few late evenings working on case files (which he illegally took home, but neither of them mentioned that), and a movie marathon when he was extremely sick and had begged her over on her day off because he was convinced he was ‘going to die any minute’ and didn’t want the neighbours to find his ‘decomposing corpse later in the week’ - and he’d been over at hers far more times than she could count (her place was nicer, she had actual cable tv,, and a working kitchen for him to rustle around in for random late night snacks). 

But this apartment? It seems strangely foreign now, without a drunk or medicated Jake needing her help, without the usual distraction of getting him into bed, getting his shoes and jacket off, forcing him awake to take some aspirin and then settling down on the couch to his snoring. She feels like a guest instead, someone who doesn’t know if they’re allowed to sit down or get a drink from the kitchen without being invited. That’s nonsense, she thinks - she’s here to help like always, and there’s no way Jake would care if she turned his entire kitchen upside down and re-organised it or fell asleep on the couch right then and there.

Loud grumbling and ranting from the bathroom pulls her out of her thoughts, before she can even decide to pick up the spare bedding set for the couch she knows he keeps in his closet. 

“Everything alright?” She knocks on the door, but barely waits for the angry ‘No!’ before opening it. Her breath catches.

Jake’s in his pajama pants, and - that’s it. She can see the muscles in his bare back flex as well as the reflection of his front in the mirror, as he tries to bend around in some convoluted way to reach the large, purple bruise that travels from his waist to his back. 

“Stupid doctors and their stupid lotions and stupid ideas for people who can’t do yoga or some shit to reach their own back-” he mumbles, but Amy doesn’t hear much of it. She’s seen Jake shirtless before - you don’t go on stake-outs or undercover assignments without catching each other in different states of undress at some point - and every time has been a secret memory, quickly stolen and hidden somewhere deep in her mind, to be dusted off and remembered at the most inopportune times or when she feels particularly alone after a drink (or maybe four). This time will probably be no different, she thinks as she notes the soft trail of hair under his belly button, down to the sweatpants that definitely sit lower than any jeans she’s seen him shirtless in before. 

She has to act, she reprimands herself, before he notices, before he sees her staring or realises she’s blushing, so she steps up to the sink and pulls the tub of healing balm from his hands.

“It’s not the doctors’ fault you always get injured in inconvenient places.” She answers his rant while dipping her fingers into the lotion and carefully applying it to the bruise, trying not to rub or press too hard for it to hurt.

Jake doesn’t breathe the entire time her fingers are on his skin.

“There you go.” Amy closes the little tub and puts it next to the sink, eyeing his bruised face and completely ignoring the flush that is hiding underneath it. “Lemme change your bandages before you sleep, too. You already got them dirty.”

“I can do that-”

“You’re going to rip it straight off and disturb your stitches, most likely.” Her hands are already at the corner of his cheek, carefully prying off the tape and strips, and he forgets how to breathe again.

She replaces the bandages just as carefully and leaves him to the rest of his night time routine, filling a glass of water in the kitchenette and coming back with a packet of Vicodin at the same moment he steps out of the bathroom, finally pulling a shirt over his head.

“You should take some painkillers before you sleep. It’ll help.”

“Oh goodie.” He quips and eyes the water. “Drugs! Because the injuries totally weren’t caused because of somebody  _ off _ their drugs!”

“These are  _ prescription drugs _ . It’s different. You know that.”

He still stares warily at the package in her hand, but another shuffle forward from her and he grabs them and pops one into his mouth, grimacing after downing it (whether that grimace is for the medicine or the water he actually has to drink, she’s not sure).

“Good boy.” Amy jokes, and he’s glad he’s already swallowed so he can’t choke on his water from hearing that. “Now get some sleep in. I’ll be down here on the couch if you need anything, or feel worse.”

“Don’t go-” He stutters and stares right past her head at the aforementioned couch. “I mean, you don’t- you don’t have to sleep on the couch, I know how uncomfortable it is- you can sleep with me- I mean, in the bed, with me in the bed, I mean- there’s enough space- with the extra blanket- I don’t-”

He interrupts his own rambling with a deep sigh and a  _ ‘Jesus, Jake’ _ before Amy can stifle another giggle. He feels just as awkward with her here as she does, and it almost makes the whole thing more comfortable. They’ll just have to power through the nonsense and get back to their normal friendly behaviour, she reasons.

“If you really don’t mind. I’m gonna get the stuff from the closet.”

He’s already bundled up under his own covers when she comes back with the heap of blanket and pillows for her side of the bed.

It’s not  _ her  _ side, of course, it’s just the part of the bed he’s freed up from his own duvet, and that she’s going to sleep on now for one night, but it’s not like they have sides in their bed like-

_ power through the nonsense _ , she repeats as she settles down and stares over at him. His eyes are closed, his breath already slowing down into a sleepy pattern, and despite all the bruising and bandaging, his face looks so soft when he’s asleep. It’s a sight she could definitely get used to.

* * *

She remembers waking up the next morning, far too early for the late night they’d had. She remembers how wonderfully warm he was, hurt face buried in her shoulder and softly breathing across his shirt that she’d borrowed. She remembers her heart racing as she tried to untangle herself from the cuddling position their sleeping bodies had found themselves in, and she remembers the soft, quiet, confused ‘Ames..?’ when he woke up a few hours later and found the bed empty, with her already sitting at the tiny kitchen table she was sitting at right now.

Looking back at the report of the night she just remembered, the little line of her name and phone number at the top seem to glare at her, scolding her for her stupid question about emergency contact changes. She can hear Jake quietly laugh before she looks up.

“What, did you genuinely think you  _ weren’t  _ my first pick for emergencies?” Jake is still smiling at her, and she realises he obviously didn’t go down that little trip down memory lane with her. Maybe he was even still at the point of their conversation where Stevie Schillens was a viable option for an emergency contact as well. “Like, even without everything else going on with us… You love filling out forms, you’re responsible enough to actually take care of an emergency situation,  _ and  _ you know about all my stupid medical info better than me, because you keep driving me to the hospital from work.”

“You’re saying you made a serious decision like this based on actual logical evidence instead of one of your ‘gut feelings’?” Amy’s eyebrow raises almost involuntary. Present-Jake, maybe. Past-Jake? Definitely not.

Present-Jake can only shrug before scratching his nose, a subtle tell that she's identified by now for when he’s embarrassed, as if he’s trying to hide his face before speaking again.

“Might’ve also liked the idea of having you in the ER with me... instead of a freaked-out Charles or something.”

She smiles at what sounds like only half-explained truth and decides not to push it. She knows what he means, anyway. She knows, by now, that he would always ask the nurses for her when he was being treated, would always ramble on about her when blissed out on extra-strong painkillers, about how smart she was and how much she would help him and how much he hated hospitals, but not quite so much when he knew she was outside the room waiting for him. 

“Okay, but when exactly did you put me in as your emergency contact?” She puts down the last file and maneuvers around the stacks of yet unsorted papers to get over to him and the couch.

“Eh, ‘bout two months after we were partnered up.”

“Two- we didn’t even  _ like  _ each other then!”

“Wrong.  _ You  _ didn’t like  _ me. _ ” Another nose-scratch before Amy can sit down next to him, cradling his face in her hand and smiling again at how quickly he leans into it. 

“Aw, babe. I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

“I mean, I didn’t like-like you then. Just for the record. I wasn’t  _ that _ desperate, okay? I just thought you were... neat. And really good to have around for emergencies. Probably should’ve asked you. For all I know you would’ve stranded your annoying new partner at the hospital and pretended like you never heard of me.”

“I would have never done that!” Amy glowers at him. “Just for the record as well. I would’ve absolutely taken care of you, even though I didn’t like you or found you super annoying.”

“I know you’re trying to be nice right now, babe, but you’re really not doing it well.” Jake grins at her again, and she can’t help but pull him towards her to kiss that snarky grin away. It reappears as soon as her lips leave his, unfortunately, but it is decidedly less snarky and far more dopey.

“And I did show up when they called me after that drug addict attacked you, remember? I was so worried when I got that call, because I didn’t even know I was your contact, and I thought something horrible must’ve happened that they had to call me. And then it was just a fist fight.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “It was a really stupid reason to call an emergency contact. Shoulda filled my forms out better.”

“Maybe.” She smiles as she strokes across his cheek, noting the tiny scar that is still there from the stitches he had to get. “But I’m glad they did, anyway. You would’ve tried to drive yourself home and clean your wounds with mouthwash, or something.”

“Maybe.” He echoes with an equal smile. “You do make a better home-nurse than I would, I guess. Even though you were missing the sexy outfit.”

He earns himself a punch to the arm for that before she goes back to playing with his hair, soothing him enough that he drops the joking facade.

“I was really happy you showed up, by the way. And took me home. And didn’t leave.”

“Again: I would’ve never left you or not taken care of you. We’re partners, for God’s sake. What would the Captain have said if he found out I left you home alone with a concussion after you asked me for help?”

“Yep. Holt’s imminent disappointment. Definitely the only reason I hoped you’d stay.” His smile is crooked, but Amy only continues stroking through his hair, and it quickly turns the uncomfortable smile into a content sigh. “I was so… nervous. Because... you can probably guess that I did like-like you by then. Like, you were right here in my apartment, and I wasn’t out on painkillers, but I also wasn’t awake enough to like, entertain you or anything, and I was so worried that you were already annoyed because of the whole situation and I would do something or say something stupid, but you were still there, and then you helped me with the bandages, and the, the lotion, and I think I remember the worst invitation to my bed I’ve ever given anyone, and when I woke up I thought you’d finally left, but you were just in the kitchen, and I-” He sighs again, closing his eyes and leaning forward to rest his forehead against her shoulder. “I was always torn between wanting to kiss you and wanting to apologise for being so much trouble.”

“God, we really were hopelessly lost on each other, weren’t we?” Amy chuckles, her hand now carding through the hair on his nape rather than the curls on top.

“I was  _ definitely  _ hopeless, in every sense of the word. I think I’d rather describe you as  _ oblivious. _ ”

“Ooooh, good word!” She happily praises him, before realising just how sad that statement of his actually was. He lifts his head again to look at her. “I... actually, I wasn’t really oblivious at all. I’d say I was just as hopeless as you. I just hid it a bit better.”

“But you were always there.” He smiles at her, his head sideways now, leaning against the back of the couch, and it’s so soft and comforting and homely she wants to sink into him. “For every hospital trip I needed. Maybe that’s kinda why I made you my emergency contact too. I knew you’d come no matter what, and I knew you wouldn’t leave. Whether I annoyed you like crazy or we barely knew each other or we were already good friends or we were not quite on speaking terms due to all the awkwardness.”

She leans her head next to him, her hands wrapping around his folded in his lap. 

“I’ve got your back. Always.” She whispers, and it’s a lot more than the supportive, yet simple promise of work partners. She thinks of the many times people had left him, the many things he’d been through alone, the lonely walks to an empty house or quiet cab rides back to a dark apartment, the  _ dinner’s in the microwave  _ notes and the  _ sorry, can’t tonight  _ texts, and the few times she has actually left him alone too, not knowing yet that when he was running off scared, what he really needed was someone to run after him and tell him it’s okay.

Their relationship is only a month old, officially, but she knows that it’s far older than that. She knows that it’s been growing and changing for years, and she knows, in that moment, that it will grow for many, many years to come. For forever, maybe, if they’re lucky. But no matter what it will change into in the future - she also knows, without a doubt in her heart, that she’ll be there. The way he knows she would, the way he’s known since two months after they met.


End file.
